In my dream last night, we were sitting too close to be merely friends. You had your body turned to the side, your legs wide so you knees bracketed my chair. One arm draped along the back of the chair, your fingers a teasing inch from my shoulder, my neck. The venue was loud, music muted but people talking and laughing. I looked into your eyes and we could have been alone.

With your free hand you pushed hair back from your face, that sexy as fuck style that you wear it in has it in your eyes all the time, just begging me to brush it away so I can stare a little longer. Not rudely, trying to work out what colour your eyes are with their grey/blue tones. Hmmm, depends on what you’re wearing some days. My eyes dropped down to the dark green tshirt then back up and somehow it makes your eyes look more grey than blue today.

You tilted you head, an almost smile taunted me then  you leaned in and your mouth brushed my ear as you spoke. Okay, no more eye fucking right now but the feel of you against me, your chest pressing into my shoulder, that hand that pushed your hair back dropping to rest on my knee? Yeah, I’ll take that instead. I heard your voice, felt your breath, but what did you say?

I turned my head slightly to look at you as I asked, “What did you say?”

Now we’re close enough that if you tilted your head that way and I tilted my head the other, we could kiss. Your eyes are smiling at me even if your lips aren’t as you repeat yourself.

“I was wondering what you were thinking.”

“Me?” I say to stall and you nodded your head. How sexy you are, how I want you to kiss me, how I want you naked. I shrugged and said, “Not much, you?”

The hand behind me moved and you tugged on my hair then, oh fuck, you wrapped that hand around the nape of my neck and squeezed. I turned my head to look at your strong forearm wrapped in ink that disappeared under your tshirt sleeve. You turned your head into my neck, your overnight growth scraping over hypersensitive skin and I lifted my hand to grip your arm, to hold on to something as my eyes drifted shut.

You don’t talk for the longest time. Around us there is the buzz of conversation, a cheer as the music changed, the live act starting. All I’m aware of though is you. I can smell the faint trace of your vape, I can feel the heat of your leg against mine, I can taste the promise of the salt of your skin as we sit there. Not talking, just breathing.

The first song finished and in the lull of sound you squeezed my neck and said, “You. I was just thinking about you.”

We both leaned back and you took your time looking up at me, your eyes so sad. I squeezed your arm then dropped my hand to my lap and you stood up, your mouth set in that familiar minimal almost smile. I wanted to shake my head, tell you no, not to go, but I just looked down because I didn’t want to watch you walk away again. Even if it was just in a dream.

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